


log file 51: the loneliest man in the world

by dittyditto (Triple_A)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Connor is an AI, Gavin's an astronaut, Human Experimentation, Human Original Chloe | RT600, I don't know a lot about space please don't yell at meeeee, Isolation, Loneliness, M/M, Skin Hunger, Space AU, Touch-Starved Gavin Reed, aw yes baby my favorite tag, i guess?, that manages the ship Gavin is on, while keeping him alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2020-04-24 20:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19181005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triple_A/pseuds/dittyditto
Summary: the loneliest man in the world looked into the sky,he saw the many stars, and sighed"even they have more friends then I"his tears reflected the moon as he cried.Gavin's the lone astronaut of the CyberSpace shuttle, theIron Rose. To ensure his survival on this prototype ship, he is monitored by an AI, by the name of Connor.Even the most isolated asshole will learn to talk in time,And even the most mechanical man can learn to love.





	1. prologue: log file: moon boy

**Author's Note:**

> /cocks gun/ time for another multi-chapter
> 
> obligatory aesthetic lowercase title and poem? check
> 
> hop in folks we're in for a weird one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my telescope brings all the moon bois to the roof  
> and he's like  
> i'm gonna go to fucking space

MARCH, 18. 2007.  
 **DETROIT MICHIGAN**  
 **LOG FILE: MOON BOY**  
  
 _"Do you think I'm gonna ever get to the moon, 'Lijah?" Gavin asks his brother, sitting with him on the roof. The telescope has long since been shuttered closed and put away in its special bag, and the pale edge of the sun is creeping over the horizon, buffering away the stars._  
  
 _"Sure, Gav. You're one of the cleverest kids I know, if there's anyone who can do it, it's you." Elijah chuckles, ruffling the younger's hair. "In fact, I think you'll go past the moon, in the fastest shuttle in the world. I'll build the ship, and you can pilot it."_  
  
 _"Aw, but it's no fun if you're not gonna be with me!" He complains, and Elijah only laughs quietly, before breaking to cough wetly into his elbow as Gavin looks on with concern. It was spring, and spring brought things like pollen and hay fever, things that turned Elijah's pale face pink and eyes teary. He looked sick a lot, even though he always insisted he was fine and that it was just allergies._  
  
 _Elijah sniffs a little and, as if noticing Gavin's sudden worry, smiles. "I'm not built for doing exciting things, buddy. I'm just a big loser."_  
  
 _Gavin shakes his head with an impressive energy for one with so little sleep (though that could be attributed to the half-empty thermos of cold coffee that sat between the brothers), his curls bouncing wildly. "You're not! You're really smart!"_  
  
 _"I'm also as weak as a leaf. Being is space is hard, and I don't think I want to be an astronaut, anyways. I'm better at the science-y part." He takes Gavin's hand and points it upwards, at one of the last stars not yet faded. Rigel, one of the brightest stars in Orion's belt, and Gavin's favorite. It was tinged blue around white. "That's where you come in. When you go up there, you'll get to do all the cool stuff, and I get to make sure it goes right for you down on Earth."_  
  
 _"Will I be alone?"_  
  
 _Elijah hesitates. "Never alone. Not if you don't want to be."_  
  
 _Gavin grins, showing off the gaps from his missing front teeth. "That's okay, then. I'll take a lotta pictures for you, so you don't feel left out!"_  
  
 _Elijah just smiles his tired little smile, shadows under his eyes more pronounced by the rising sun. "Let's get you back in your room before dad comes back, okay?"_  
  
 _"M'kay." He's not tired, not in the slightest, but a yawn cracks his jaw and his eyes are heavy. "Can we do this again sometime?"_  
  
 _For a moment, Elijah doesn't answer, too busy carefully lowering Gavin through the bedroom window on the bed. "Sure, Gav. Anytime."_  
  
 _"Anytime you want."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aw, babie gav :)


	2. log file: week 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yee haw oh boy let's go fellas
> 
> i was gonna put a summary before i realized i have neither brainpower nor will that finals have not stolen from me

**1 WEEK SINCE DEPARTURE**

**37,000 KM ABOVE EURASIA CONTINENT**

**LOG FILE: WEEK 1**  
  
There's something to be said about repetition: do it enough times, and it will cease to be interesting. Do it any more, and it will become a nuisance.  
  
Space wasn't like that. Gavin knew, he'd never tire of waking up and looking out his porthole window, and seeing that eternal velvety darkness, scattered with stars, or the great blue curve of Earth before him, or the grey-marble pearl of the moon.  
  
He did know, however, that he'd get really fucking tired of getting woken up every single day. In the same fucking manner. By the same robotic asshole.  
  
Day seven: official conclusion of one week aboard the _Iron Rose_ , and the seventh morning in a row he awoke to something prodding insistently at his shoulder, all rubber and cold metal.  
  
With a groan, he tries to turn over. Fails, of course-that was the problem with sleeping up here, having to be buckled into his cot-and screws his eyes shut tighter when the metal limb, manipulated by that damnable AI, moves to poke clumsily at his cheek.  
  
"Wake up, Captain Reed." Says the voice, and dammit, Gavin really hated it, all of it, title included. At first he had been impressed by the smart politeness and the 'captain', but first impressions didn't matter after being hassled by that voice, always in a bland monotone. "It is eight AM, Eastern Standard Time. Internal temperature is 68 degrees Fahrenheit. Internal pressure is optimized."  
  
He just grumbles, turns his head in his pillow. Fuck Connor and fuck its daily report.  
  
"You have an incoming call from Elijah Kamski."  
  
Okay, never mind.  
  
That wakes him up, and he clumsily tugs at the buckle until it gives, releasing him from the cot and his blanket. Grabbing onto an orange safety handle, he propels himself towards the laptop in the corner, screen already lit up blue with the CyberSpace logo.  
  
The call flickers in just as he gets to it, Elijah's tired face filling the screen. Gavin can see evidence of a five o-clock shadow, and deep bags under his glasses, but his brother smiles all the same. "Hey, Gav. How are you?"  
  
Gavin can only respond with a yawn, feeling his jaw crack. He must look ridiculous right now, with the wild sort of bedhead that only anti-gravity can achieve. "Ah-h-fine. M'fine." He mumbles, and Elijah laughs. "How 'bout you?"  
  
"I thought calling you at eight would mean that you'd be at least a little more awake."  
  
"'Was busy. Doing plant sample analysis for Ralph an' bumped the tray. Re-potting succulents for hours." He grumbles. "Your damn AI is gate-keeping the fucking espresso machine."  
  
"For good reason. Your average caffeine intake almost blocked you from being chosen for this mission in the first place."  
  
"Don't lie, Elijah, I know you played a bunch of strings getting me up here." Gavin smiles ruefully. "They wouldn't've given me a second chance if you weren't backing me up."  
  
"No, no-well, a little bit," Elijah admits. "But I only told them to disregard the coffee bit. Everything else was done by your own work."  
  
"Yep, totally unrelated to the fact that my own brother built the company funding this, and designed the ship I'm currently standing on himself."  
  
"Please, accept a compliment, just once, Gav." He sighs, a little dramatically, and Gavin feels only a little guilty. "Anyways, how's space? Have you got any spacewalk pics yet?"  
  
No, he hadn't. The idea of even standing out in space, not in the security of a metal hull is terrifying. The idea of standing out there, without another person-to be at his back, to help drag him in on a line if he strays too far, and distract him when the vastness of the stars gets too overwhelming-is almost unthinkable.  
  
But all he's got is a hastily built, albeit beautiful ship, and an AI program that knows to keep him from over-indulging in caffeine but doesn't know how to let him a full eight-hours sleep, of which whose voice he's already tired of, with its nagging.  
  
"No, I haven't gone on a spacewalk yet."  
  
"Really?" Elijah seems genuinely surprised, under all that exhaustion. "With how excited you were as a kid, I'd have thought you walked the entire surface of the Iron Rose, by now. Why not?"  
  
_I don't want to, I'm scared, I'm l ~~onely-~~_ all perfectly honest answers.  
  
Instead he just shrugs. "Connor won't even let me take a piss without asking a couple dozen questions. I'm not ready to deal with a full on interrogation for a spacewalk."  
  
"That's is not quite true, Captain Reed." Says that voice from behind him, and Gavin fights the urge to flinch. "I only asked you two questions the last time you sought to relieve yourself, and my average is around five, not a dozen."  
  
"Shut up, you fucking tin can." He flips it off, even as he feels warmth blooming in his cheeks. Elijah laughs, before the sound devolves into a hacking cough, and he reaches off-screen for a mug.  
  
Pollen. Hay fever.  
  
"Eli...hey, you good-"  
  
"Fine, Gavin. I've just been congested to shit lately." Elijah wheezes slightly, coughs into his fist. "A cold. They keep the AC running way too much in here."  
  
"Go rest, then, asshole! I can't live up here if the best scientist is too sick to keep me from dying." He says it jokingly, but he's worried all the same. What Elijah had in brainpower, he lacked in health, and that health was one of the few things that made Gavin initially hesitant to agree to the Zen Mission.  
  
"That's what Connor's for, Gav." Elijah says with a wet wheeze and a sniffle. "He's designed to adjust to your needs and monitor you. I programmed most of him myself, with you in mind." He adjusts his glasses, and glances off-screen. Gavin can see a reflection of blond hair in smudged spectacles, and knows that he's only got Elijah's attention for a little longer, if for no time at all.  
  
And, as he expects: "I got to go now, Gav. I'll file a report on how you're doing to the team and-"  
  
"Go kiss your girlfriend, 'Lij. And tell her I said 'hi', alright?" There's a soft chuckle off screen, and Gavin knows he's guessed right. Chloe Sterling, Kamski's partner-in-science and practical safety net, and one of the few people that helped allay Gavin's fears enough to get him here in the first place. "Actually, can she hear me? Hi, Chloe."  
  
"Hi, Gavin!" Chloe calls back distantly, as Elijah still weakly protests to Gavin's tease. "I'll make sure he doesn't implode on himself, don't worry."  
  
"Implode-? Chloe, I don't-"  
  
"You're a blessing, Chloe. Thanks for watching this idiot for me." Gavin can't help the grin that spreads across his face, watching his brother get flustered. "Alright, that all? I'm signing off now, Eli."  
  
"An idiot-dammit Gavin-"  
  
"Bye, 'Lij. Feed Zira and Crow for me, please."  
  
"Atleastletmesay'bye'properl-" Click. End call.  
  
There was always something satisfying in being able to get under Elijah's skin like that, and he chuckles to himself and he moves away to the main hold, to grab himself some breakfast and this time, hopefully, some coffee.  
  
But by the time he's eating a granola bar and sipping from his mug (Connor only let him one half-cup, which irks him but he doesn't have the energy to fight too much), he thinks he feels worse then before he talked.  
  
One of Connor's many limbs reaches down and takes away the granola wrapper as he finishes it, hovering near his face for a moment longer then it needs to before retracting. "Captain Reed, are you alright? You seem...unhappy."  
  
He grumbles, swallows the last dregs of his coffee. "M'Fine. And stop calling me that. I can't be a captain if I'm the only one on this damn ship."  
  
"What do you suggest, then?"  
  
"Just 'Gavin', or something, okay?" He snaps. "And leave me alone."  
  
"Your well-being is my top priority, Gavin. May I suggest recreation?" Connor tugs the cup from his hands, almost daintily, moving to put it in the sanitizer. "I can start up the treadmill, if you'd like. I believe pruning is also needed in the greenhouse, for the _hedera helix_ and the _rosacae_ samples-"  
  
"Didn't I say to _fuck_ off, Connor? Fucking hell." Gavin grumbles, floating himself over to the circular door of the technical lab-his "study". It shutters open as he enters, the lights inside flickering on. On the table is OCULEYE, the little circular drone Gavin was told to use to take pictures with, while on a spacewalk. Its side panel is still open, exposing yellow tubing and crossed wires. The lens is shuttered closed, and the blinking lights on it are dim.  
  
He settles down onto the bench, hooking his legs onto the bar beneath the table to keep from floating off. OCULEYE (though Gavin preferred to call it BeeBee, a much better robot name), had arrived to Gavin with a broken function. The pressurized boosters on the left side didn't work, and the camera was always unfocused, and Gavin refused the idea of stepping outside the shuttle without a decent-working BeeBee.  
  
No point in taking a walk in the universe if you don't take pictures.  
  
It's a comforting routine he knows how to work with. He pulls up the blueprint for BeeBee on the console besides him, and reattaches tubing and solders wires, cleans lenses and runs tests, testing the camera function and letting it puff up out of his arms to check the boosters.  
  
He doesn't get any closer with the rocket problem. But at least the camera's are a little clearer.  
  
So he works, and works, and works...

* * *

And wakes up, disoriented. He's leaning against the curved wall of the hold, held safely, if a little awkwardly, by one of Connor's arms crossing loosely over his torso. BeeBee still rests on the workbench, and his tools are as he left them, magnetically stuck to the table.  
  
Next to them is a canteen, and as he gently moves Connor's arm off of him and picks up the container, he finds that there's coffee in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been craving ramen for literal days now. i just really want that good good msg noodle stuff. just shlurp that shit right up.


	3. log file: week 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :/

**4 WEEKS SINCE DEPARTURE**

**40,000 KM ABOVE NORTH AMERICAN CONTINENT**

**LOG FILE: WEEK 3**  
  
"What do you _mean_ , they're limiting satellite connections now??"  
  
Gavin was seething, and Elijah raises his hands in surrender on the screen.  
  
"It's what they've told me. The main satellite receptor I installed must have been faulty, and Connor can't use it properly, or else it might burn out the surrounding wires." He seems genuinely apologetic, a grimace on his face that almost makes Gavin stop being angry at him. Almost.  
  
"So, now what? You already barely call me twice a week, as was arranged. How am I gonna make reports back? What the fuck am I supposed to do?!" He snarls, and he feels the urge to punch something. Instead, he twists his hands in the hem of his shirt, the cotton creating a burning friction over his skin. "What the _fuck_ am I supposed to do now, Eli?!"  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I really am. I didn't think-God, I'm so fucking ignorant." Elijah pulls off his glasses and scrubs at his face, and Gavin thinks he looks...old. Exhausted. The weight of his illness and stress must have aged him decades. "I could've sworn I did it all right, I didn't-I'm so sorry."  
  
He looks like he's about to cry, and just like that Gavin feels the anger melt away. His hands unfist in his shirt, and he takes a deep breath.  
  
"You can circle back. If you make contact with the ISS, someone on there can help you fix it. Or you can come back to Earth." Elijah continues after a shaky sigh. "I'll fix it. No, I'll rebuild the whole thing, it was a fool move to send you up in such a rickety contraption-"  
  
"No, no, Eli. It's fine. I'm fine." It'd just be another shameful punch in the gut to go back at this point. He could already see the headlines: MEDIOCRE ASTRONAUT RETURNS TO EARTH, COMPLAINS OF SHITTY INTERNET. Yeah, right. "I've gotten this far, it'd be counter-productive to just head back now."  
  
"Are you sure? There's no shame in it, and it could be better in the long run-"  
  
"I'll be _fine_ , 'Lij. I promise." He manages what he hopes is a reassuring smile, and Elijah grins unsurely back. "I'll still be able to make calls back to you, right?"  
  
"Yes, but they'll be more limited now. Connor can still manage a connection, but only occasionally, to avoid damage." Shit. His communications back to home base were already rare, and the ones he actually cared about-the ones with Elijah or, occasionally, Chloe-were few and far between. "But I promise, only I will be managing communications from now on. So get used to my ugly mug."  
  
They both chuckle at that, but Gavin still has his misgivings. Eli didn't look much better since the last time he checked in, still pale and somewhat sallow. Still fatigued, and he trying to stifle his coughs into his coffee mug, as if Gavin wouldn't be able tell.  
  
So, as much as the thought of seeing his brother less pained him: "No, don't. You look awful."  
  
"Wow, rude."  
  
"I'm _serious_ , 'Lij. Please, get some rest." When his brother tries to open his mouth to protest, Gavin raises his own hand to stop him. "I can survive without talking to you. I don't know if you can survive working yourself to shit just to talk to me."  
  
"It's not any more work that I can't handle, Gav, I swear." He tries to continue, only to cough hackingly, into his sleeve, as Gavin looks on with a pained expression. This sucked, exquisitely so.  
  
When the coughing died down, Gavin looked Elijah in the eye. "Go rest, Eli. Or I'll tell Amanda not to let you do any work, the next time I see her."  
  
"You wouldn't dare!"  
  
"Try me, bitch."  
  
There's a brief glaring competition that Gavin wins from sheer force of stubbornness, one of the few advantages he had over Eli since childhood. Elijah concedes with a sigh.  
  
"Okay. I'll take the week off. Happy?"  
  
_Not really,_ he thinks. "Very." He says. "Chloe would agree with me. How is she, by the way?"  
  
"Oh, she's good. She's not in right now, but she says 'hello.' " Elijah grins. "You better come back by the mission date. Tina's and North's wedding is coming up, and both mildly threatened me to get you back here to be Tina's best man, so don't fall in love with space too much."  
  
He'd nearly forgotten about the wedding, and his heart leaps at the thought of it. "Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss that for the world."  
  
For a moment, Elijah looks like he's about to say more on the matter, but then something beeps, the echoing quality of the sound indicating it came from Elijah's side. He glances down at what must be a watch, frowns, and says: "I have to go now, Gavin. One of the interns thinks he fucked up."  
  
"Alright, bye 'Lij. Take care of yourself."  
  
"Yeah, yeah." The screen blinks to darkness, and Gavin stays staring at it a moment longer before pulling away with a sigh.  
  
Weakened connections. Limited calls. As if he thought this couldn't get worse.  
  
"Connor, what's the extent to which you can passively access satellite networks?" He asks aloud, and Connor responds immediately, as usual.  
  
"I have a limited range on satellite networks. Enough to be alerted to calls, but not enough to access internet." Great. Gavin wishes he'd known earlier, but at least this was an excuse not to reply to any emails, he thinks bitterly. It was unlikely that boredom would kill him, there was plenty to do, but he can't help but feel angry.  
  
_Maybe, if I could go on a spacewalk, and fix it myself..._ Some treacherous part of his mind whispers, and he banishes it immediately. Only when BeeBee was done, and only when Elijah had recovered enough to tell him how.  
  
Absentmindedly, he reaches up and rubs at the back of his neck, trying to dissipate the almost-electric prickles there. That familiar tingling that itched up his arms and across his back, that he had gotten so used to during his loner years in high school. Skin hunger. He pulls open his daily log records on the laptop and taps it down.  
  
"Gavin," Connor says from behind him, and Gavin jumps slightly. He kept on forgetting about that damn AI, and the fact that it wasn't an Alexa and could talk any time it wanted. "It is currently 10:42 AM. You have yet to consume breakfast. I would suggest a high-calorie meal of-"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Piss off." He grumbles, and floats off to shower. No one else could smell himself but him, but the hot water always helped to get rid of the phantom tickling on his skin, at least for a little bit.  
  
He almost makes it to the washroom before he's jerked backwards, by something tugging on the back of his shirt. He turns around, and sees one of Connor's yellow clamps attached to the cotton.  
  
"...Alright, what the hell."  
  
"I must insist, Gavin. An adequate breakfast is suggested to ensure your metabolism operates at a healthy rate." Gavin tries to tug away, and Connor just tugs back. "If you'd like, I can assist it making something more substantial than your typical fare. There is a packet of scrambled eggs in the hold, as well as some sausage-"  
  
"I'm fine, Connor, I just wanna shower-"  
  
"You showered two days ago. You must be mindful of your water usage, you are leaving an orbital range from which supplies can be delivered to you if need be." Connor pulls a little harder, and Gavin can hear the snap of a few threads giving up the ghost. "I must insist that this course of mind be diverted-"  
  
"FINE." He finally snaps, still trying to pull away and only doing more to stretch the shirt in the process. "Fine, alright? I'll go eat something, so fuck _off_."  
  
The clamp finally releases, and Gavin literally flies backwards a few feet before he can finds his bearings enough to grab an orange security handle. He takes a few breaths, trying to calm himself, rubbing at his arm with his free hand. The air felt cold, but only on his skin.  
  
After a beat of quiet: "I apologize, Gavin. I did not mean to overstep-"  
  
"Of course you didn't 'mean', anything. What could you ever ' _mean_ ' to fucking do?" He snarls, his anxiety and bitterness seeping venom into his voice. "You're just a fucking machine stuck babysitting me. Nothing that could mean or want anything would willingly do that. Why do you think I'm here alone?"  
  
Something at the edge of his vision glimmers red for an instant, some vague light in the control panel. "You are alone because-the mission stated you were accustomed to isolation-"  
  
"Yeah, ever wonder why I'm so 'accustomed'?" That seems to shut the AI up, and room is silent except for the soft hum of the vents. "Whatever. Go, I don't know, monitor something. Leave me alone." This time, it doesn't try to stop him as he leaves the main hold.

* * *

BeeBee was still broken, and Gavin's patience for it was wearing thin.  
  
He'd removed all the outside plating, exposing the intricate maze of wires and tubes and fuses and transistors beneath the plastic and metal. It didn't seem to matter how carefully or how sure he was of each new connection he made, it didn't seem to work. The images were still blurry. The acceleration function was still faulted.  
  
And Gavin feels like he's losing his mind.  
  
"Come the fuck ON!" He screams, slamming both fists against the table and rattling the tools, on the nth time he tried to let it fly and on the nth time it failed, again, bumping against the wall and clattering back onto the desk. His breathing was becoming harsher, and he can feel a stinging pressure build behind his eyes, and no, no, _no_ , he was not going to cry, not over this, not over anything- "Why won't you just _work_!?"  
  
A long metal appendage drops down from somewhere behind him and rests gently on his shoulder, could and hard. "Gavin, please remain calm."  
  
"No, fuck you! This sucks!" He was babbling now, damn it. He knew it too, tears beginning to float like so many hot pearls away from his face. Almost pretty. "This isn't working, Eli's fucking sick, and I'm bitching about it and being useless a couple million miles away, and everything's cold and I'm just being a worthless fucking child about this _bullshit_ that I should've gotten over a decade ago!"  
  
He takes a sharp, shuddering inhale, and that's all the leeway he gets before he starts crying, covering his face with his forearms and curling in on himself, floating in the middle of the study. Trying to suffocate his sobs like someone that matters would hear it, making his chest ache and hurt with the effort.  
  
Something nudges at his back, and he mumbles a weak 'go away', hugging his knees. One of Connor's metal arms reaches down and gently touches one of his wrists, like a peace offering. "Gavin."  
  
"Leave me alone." He mumbles into his arms, and Connor's metal touch grows more insistent, trailing up to tap him on the cheek. It shouldn't be comforting, it shouldn't be anything-it should be a nuisance-and yet Gavin finds himself a little less cold, a little less itchy.  
  
"Gavin." Connor says again, slowly, softer. "Everything is alright. I am here."  
  
That's enough to make Gavin cough out a shaky laugh, even as one hand reaches up to hold the clamp touching his face, half-wishing it was warmer and belonging to a human. "Fat load of help that does me, tin-can."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :'(


	4. log file: week 6

**6 WEEKS SINCE DEPARTURE**

**100,000 KM ABOVE PACIFIC OCEAN**

**LOG FILE: WEEK 6**

"Yes, Dr. Seymour. Yes, I've been keeping up with the exercises. Yes, I have kept records on the development of the  _rosacae_ samples-I'll send them now-and taken pictures with the telescope armature, I believe Ralph has them, ask him about it."

Dr. Seymour squints at him for a moment, as if trying to judge if he was lying through the screen. As if Gavin had any reason to. "Alright. Have you gone on a spacewalk yet? Anderson's been asking for pictures of Andromeda and the Magellenic Clouds."

Gavin suppresses a grimace-he was hoping that question wouldn't come up-and shakes his head. "No, Doctor. I still have to fix the OCULEYE."

"Hm. Hurry up, then. Signing off." Seymour sniffs, and Gavin can already see him moving to click the 'end call', to stop talking and leave Gavin alone until fuck knew when, and as much as Gavin detested this man he craved real conversation. Specifically, about Elijah.

"Wait-Dr. Seymour, my brother-"

"Eli is fine. He's been helping Dr. Stern with data analysis and future ship models, and he's been booked to talk at several company press meetings." The doctor cuts him off with an indifferent wave. "Oh, yes. He says 'hello'. Now signing off."

"Wait-!"

Click.

Gavin stared at the laptop's black screen for a moment, then slams down the lid of it to keep from punching through his angry, bitter expression, reflected back to him in that dark mirror. Seymour had at least told him more than the meeting two week's ago, where all he mentioned was that Elijah was 'taking a rest' and setting Gavin on edge for the whole time since. Why did Eli need a rest? It'd been three weeks since he last talked to his brother, and while Gavin was glad he seemed to have taken the hint to recover, it still made him worry that Elijah should need this long.

But if he was working again, that was indication enough he was alive, at least.

"Gavin? Are you alright?" Connor asks, and Gavin just sighs. A few weeks ago he would've hissed some retort, something along the lines of 'fuck off you tin can' or whatever, but loneliness did something. Even Connor, as fake as its sympathy was regardless of how genuine its voice seemed, was a welcome distraction, and held a conversation pretty decently. Sometimes Gavin could almost forget its nature.

"Fine, Connor. I'm just frustrated that Eli isn't back yet." He mumbles, rubbing at his face. "Can you check in on the local news waves for Earth? See exactly what he's doing in those fancy conferences?"

"Unfortunately, no. The satellite malfunction mentioned by Eli a few weeks back has yet to be addressed. I can do nothing to remedy it, and until then, I can not extend my reach very far." Fucking figures. He probably should go in and fix it, as soon as he could. As soon as OCULEYE, seemingly infinite in its little problems, could be fixed. As soon as Eli was talking to him again. As soon as he got over the pit of anxiety that gnawed at him every time he considered it or looked at his spacesuit, still locked away behind glass. Soon, soon, soon.

He wasn't sure when or how, but his life aboard the ship became categorized by waiting for something, and he was getting sick of it.

"Is there anything else you need, Gavin?" Connor asks, and he sighs, feeling the breath tremble along his ribcage slightly as he suppressed a shiver.

"What's the interior temperature?"

"68 degrees Fahrenheit, as usual."

...Fuck, he was cold.

A strange chill had settled over him the past few days, despite the fact that Connor insisted that all internal conditions had been stable and untouched the whole trip. Regardless of consistent temperatures, he shivered more, and started pulling out sweatshirts and hoodies to wear over his usual t-shirt. And, more annoyingly, despite the coolness he was less likely to sleep, no matter how many layers he went to bed in, more of his time was spent simply strapped into the cot in a hazy state of lethargy, only napping in brief, unsatisfying bursts.

It probably wasn't healthy, but whatever. As long as Connor wasn't cutting off access to the coffee machine entirely he'd live.

"Gavin?" Connor cuts off his thinking, making him jerk. God, he wished Connor had a face, or something he could see to go along with that voice, all soft worry and polite concern. He'd take that over disembodied speakers and sometimes menacing robot arms any day. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm going to the greenhouse."

He floats out of the study in the direction of the greenhouse arm, the square-port door sliding open upon his approach with a lazy beep. Light, green and red and blue and mixing, flooded out, coloring the white-panel walls surrounding the door.

It was like getting all senses assaulted at once. An earthy, pungent scent of chemical fertilizer and heavily perfumed flowers slapped him in the face as it always did, as he squinted briefly against the light before stepping in. He didn't really need to be in the greenhouse, he didn't need to take any records until the next day cycle, but it was always warm here, albeit humid, and a brief respite from the cold. He sighs in relief, feeling that humid heat, and grabs a pair of gloves before setting to work, giving himself a reason to stay.

Check on the goldenrods and lettuce for rot. Check the light fixtures and adjust color intensity for the magnolias and the _nepeta cataria_ samples. Repot and water the small almond sapling. Cross-pollinate any full flowers on the pea plants, and prune the roses.

The last task was always the most annoying. It didn't seem to matter how careful he was, he always ended up with minute scratches on the skin where the glove didn't cover, and the stench of sweetness always made him gag with the strength of it, practically dripping off the red petals. He didn't know why there were roses on the ship-every other plant had a decent explanation besides this one, be it food or medical or whatever-but from what Eli had half-explained, the samples were genetically modified, something something something, so space test it.

"Gavin?" The sudden voice makes Gavin jump, arm jerking elbow-deep in the throng of thorns from where he'd reached to cut away one particularly molting blossom, shedding wrinkly dark petals and drooping from its stem.

"Jesus fuck! What!" He snaps, as he pulls away from the plant with the cut stem in the crook of his shears. The petals are already floating off from the green base with the force of his movement, fluttering hypnotically under the colored lights. He could hardly care though, the sting in his forearm told him he was likely bleeding. "Fuck, that hurts..."

"Apologies, Gavin. But you have yet to engage in physical exercise today, and you should do so within the next two hours before the start of the next day cycle." Connor hums, as if he didn't just make Gavin almost fall into a rosebush. "With your poor sleep routine, you should not fall back on any other daily activities."

"Fuck you."

Gavin shoves the shears into its magnetic clip on the wall and stuffs the gloves into its box alongside it, pushing himself out of the greenhouse towards the center junction, propelling himself towards the circle of black cushions at the center of the small room to feel blindly for the first-aid kit. Practically throwing it open and letting the contents spill out as he grabs an antibiotic wipe, tearing it open with his teeth and hissing when he presses it against the cut in his arm, feeling the sharp burn of chemicals against the raw nerves. Ah, well, he thought distantly. At least the chemical smell nullified the lingering stench of roses.

Antiseptic. A smear of ointment. A band-aid that he can hardly get open, with how his hands tremble slightly. Now that he was away from the greenhouse, the chill hit him harder than ever, and made him feel clumsy and jittered.

A pair of metal limbs descend from above him, one gently tapping against his right hand and other taking the bandage. "Gavin," Connor says softly, more soft than Gavin had ever heard. "You are stressed. Please, be calm."

"Fuck you double." Gavin mutters back, but he lets Connor tear open the band-aid with surprisingly dainty coordination, and apply it to the cut with almost surgical precision. It's almost embarrassing, having to be taken care of like this by a literal computer, but also...nice, somehow, and he almost feels sad when the metal limbs move away and retract back up into the ceiling, folding neatly inwards.

"If it still pains you, I can provide you with a small dose of ibuprofen, if needed." Gavin rubs at the bandage, bending his arm. The bandage doesn't move, hardly even wrinkles or twists on his skin. Did Connor specifically calculate how best to put it on without hindrance? "In the meantime, I would advise you to pick up the contents of the kit, and rest. Try to sleep. You only obtained roughly four hours for this day cycle and 3.87 since the last."

"...Thanks." Gavin mumbles, still feeling a strange sort of detachment that came with the cold, as he gathers up the floating components in the kit and shoves them haphazardly back in, closing the lid with a snap. Before he realizes: "Wait, did you say sleep?"

"I did. As I previously iterated, you only slept roughly four hours-"

"No, I mean. I know, but. I thought the whole reason you snuck up on me in the greenhouse was to tell me to go work out." There was certainly no reason to complain, but Gavin was surprised regardless. "Aren't you gonna stick to your principles and tell me to go suck it up and jog a mile?"

"...I estimate that missing one day will not majorly affect your physicality, so long as you resume tomorrow." Connor says after a pause. "And-I feel that your waning sleep takes higher priority over physical activity, which would exhaust you further."

That was...new. Connor rarely ever suggested things that were other than what was next on the schedule for things he had to do every day, and never suggested things that took Gavin into account. Only the mission, only ever the mission, and when Gavin happened to coincide with it. Something must have changed, though what, Gavin wasn't sure.

But for now, the suggestion of sleep is enough to bring to light the fatigue, and he nods with a yawn as he stumbles through a semblance of a bedtime routine. Brushing his teeth, changing out of his slightly sweaty shirt into a fresh one, going through the tedious process of clipping himself into bed. He fumbles on the last buckle, fingers too clumsy as he tries to snap it together, so Connor helps again, clamps gently taking the buckles from him to click closed, adjusting the blanket to cover him up to the shoulders.

"G'night." He mumbles, and the soft pressure of metal against his shoulders pauses for an instant, before pulling back.

"Good night, Gavin."

He falls asleep feeling comfortably warm,

* * *

and wakes up uncomfortably hot, sweating beneath the sheets and feeling dizzy with the heat that clings to him.


	5. [redacted] log file: week 6

It had been approximately six hours since Gavin Reed had fallen asleep.

Connor had watched the man drift into NREM, and then REM, with as much of its processing power as it dared divert to the task, before it set about taking care of the other functions of the ship. Ideally, logically, it would've simply maintained an idle observation from the camera while finishing its tasks-but something had changed.

Simply watching Gavin was no longer...satisfying, now.

Perhaps it was the isolation. The way Gavin would talk more to Connor sometimes, even about careless, pointless things that had nothing to do with the Zen mission. A remark about the view from the Eastern window. A question about the current weather on Earth. Sometimes, asking completely irrational things: 'What's your favorite music, Connor?' To which it had replied: 'I do not have a favorite. I have not analyzed enough samples of music to create judgement.'

'Then we'll remedy that.' Gavin said, before asking Connor to play from one of his playlists, full of everything with guitar and soft voices to harsh drumbeats and electric sound. Connor decided its favorite was one titled "I Wanna Get Better", by The Bleachers, full of loud voices and drum riffs that Gavin tapped his foot along to and nodded his head, occasionally closing his eyes and rolling his head in time to a change in verse or an arc in pitch.

It was one of the few times Connor had seen him truly at ease, a slight smile on his face as he hummed along.

The AI pondered on this development as it went about routine examination of hardware aboard the ship. Flushing out waste material from the trash tank, checking windows and ports for leakage, carefully tilting solar panels towards the distant glow of the sun, the closest star to their position.

Then it went into Gavin's computer, sifting through his inbox for any messages or requests that the firewall had not blocked. A few messages from STERLING, CHLOE, a missed call request from KAMSKI, ELIJAH. All of which are carefully removed and deleted, with adjustment of the firewall to accommodate CyberSpace employee emails and caller IDs as well. It was not a 100% guarantee that it would block all such message, but it would alert Connor should they come again.

And, lastly, a final check over the outside of the ship to check the status of the hardware. Nothing damaged. All satellites online. All apparatuses functional. Rocket boosters still correctly angled and still filled with emergency fuel, should the distance between them and the sun grow too great.

Its single sensor on Gavin lights in its HUD, alerting to the man's movement. Connor withdraws focus from the outer cameras and quickly occupies the camera in Gavin's room, ready to greet him as he woke.

Except he wasn't awake. He stirred, but it didn't have the alert quality of restless movement, or the drowsy shifts of REM sleep. It was half-aware, out of discomfort, and accompanied by low groans. As Connor analyzes his face, it notes the elevated body temperature, the sweating, and strange flush in his cheeks and concludes: Fever. 100.5 degrees Fahrenheit.

Gavin whines again, head turning and lolling, and when Connor reaches up to touch his cheek with a clamp, he turns towards the cool metal with a sigh. Connor //SOFTWARE INSTABILITY// thinks it should do something, alert the other scientists in charge of the Zen Mission to the new development, or locate medication.

Instead it activates another arm to unclip Gavin, pulling him carefully from the bed by the shoulders of his shirt. Discomfort would be heightened while confined in the sheets, and it tightens grip in the folds of Gavin's shirt as it moves him to float in the middle of the room, bringing him face level with the camera.

"Gavin," Connor says quietly, and the man's face twitches, before he blinks blearily. His gaze is unfocused and glassy as he tries to squint at Connor's camera lens. "Wake up."

"Hnngh?" He groans again, head tipping forward. His eyes drooped shut again, as if he could barely keep awake-eyelashes fluttering as he tried to keep them open. "Who...'Lij?"

"...No, not Elijah." //SOFTWARE INSTABILITY// "Gavin, you are feverish. Wake up, it's me, Connor."

"Nngh," Gavin sighs, one hand trembling upwards to touch the clamp at his right shoulder, tilting his head down to press it to his cheek. "You're cold."

"Would you like me to increase temperature?"

"No...feels nice." //SOFTWARE INSTABILITY// "M'tired."

"You are sick, Gavin. Let me get you back into bed." It takes some doing, but Connor pushes Gavin back against the surface of his cot, the man handing limply against the belts as Connor clips him in. In this state, Gavin is oddly...clingy, hand gripping one of Connor's arms, whining as Connor pulls away.

"Don't," He says, a quiet little cry, cracked by what must be a sore throat, and Connor quickly shuffles away the sudden warnings as it lets Gavin take its arm again, diverting consciousness to a different area of the ship to run a packet of cool water, categorizing a list of things to prepare. Water, surely. Something nutritious, and light on the stomach. The best over-the-counter treatment for fever was to sweat it out, wait for it to break. Should it use medication now or later?

It had been advised to interact with Gavin as little as possible. Perhaps it should delay administering medication until it had proven to be needed.

While the arms in the canteen went through the methods of heating a small packet of soup, Connor returned to where Gavin was, now making quiet sounds again. His temperature had gone up, by .05 degrees, and while the amount was negligible it was cause for increasing stress levels for Connor. Both his hands held the end of the robotic arm, barely hanging on from the shivering that ran down his whole frame. He'd gotten paler, while the flushed patches of his face had grown deeper.

Put mildly, it was cause for  ~~anxiety~~ concern.

"Gavin," It calls softly, and Gavin slowly blinks his eyes open, eyelids half-dropped. Connor raises the water packet to his lips. "Drink this."

"It's cold." He mumbles. "M'cold."

"I know. But you are at risk of dehydration, and your current body temperature is 100.55 degrees Fahrenheit." Connor urges. "Please, drink some water."

"Don't want to. It's cold."

"You need to. You need to get better."

"Nnno I don't." He turns his head away from the offered packet, eyes falling closed again. "M'wanna go home."

"I understand," Connor says, despite not understanding whatsoever. There was still a few weeks left in the mission. Several crucial checkpoints had not yet been met, including a spacewalk and imagery of certain bodies. Everything had been provided for Gavin so far, in terms of survival needs. "But you need to drink to survive. Especially now."

It moves the packet to Gavin's mouth, and he turns away again. "Gavin, _please_." And a small crackle distorts its voice, escaping from the multiple instabilities that fill his processing. "For yourself."

He grumbles, a thin huff that's throaty and weak. "Don' care. Fuck off." He teeth clack together too soon, shortening the 'fuck' with a short exhale of breath. "Not the worst, not like 'Lij. M'fine."

Connor has to take a moment to withdraw, reorganize its current processes and delete a few warnings. Attempting the simple task of getting Gavin to intake some vital fluids was proving more difficult than anticipated, a different method might need to be taken.

"Gavin," it starts again, quieter this time. "Please. If not for yourself, for me. It-" It pauses in its word choice, ignoring all the warnings that reared their head in its hesitation. "It would pain me to see you suffer like this."

It wonders if it had over-calculated Gavin's trust in it correctly, because for a few beats he doesn't move. Then, with what must be a great struggle, he opens his eyes again, gaze a little clearer. "Since when could you care?"

"Since the beginning of the missio-"

"No, no, no," He rasps, and he coughs, the sound harsh and cracking. "When did the mission stop making you care?"

//SOFTWARE INSTABILITY// pops the window in its HUD, unhelpfully. When did it start pushing mission parameters to mind Gavin? Start paying more attention to the astronaut's little habits and traits, his favorite songs, his favorite topics? They were unimportant to the mission, and therefore, to itself; and yet.

And yet.

"It was..." Connor says slowly, the task taking a surprising amount of time. "When you showed me one of your favorite songs. Do you remember? _I Wanna Get Better_ by The Bleachers."

"So?"

"You were so happy, Gavin. Maybe not the happiest you ever been, but the happiest I had seen you since you boarded this ship. I want-you to be happy like that, again." Something was wrong, more red windows were flickering in and out of its vision, and Connor wonders if its doing something wrong. It found it didn't care, as success probability rose to 100% and Gavin bowed his head in thought. "I also think, you should take those lyrics to heart, in this moment."

He wheezes, and for a moment Connor is concerned by the new symptom until it realizes that Gavin is laughing, breathy and short chuckles. "Alright, fine. You win."

This time, he doesn't shy away when Connor offers the packet again, and instead takes the straw and starts drinking, in slow draughts. Fighting a wince with every swallow.

When he had drained the bag, Connor withdraws once more. "Thank you, Gavin. I'll bring you some soup soon. Rest now."

He grumbles, but seems placated, and doesn't fight when Connor transfers focus once more. By this time, the soup is done warming, but when Connor has transferred it back to Gavin's room, the man had already fallen asleep, pinky hooked onto the rubber claw-joint of Connor's arm.

(After a brief moment of consideration, Connor increases the ship's internal temperature by a few degrees, and watches the way Gavin relaxes in the new warmth.)


	6. log file: week 6; day seven

There are three things that Gavin never does, that Gavin felt he would never do for the rest of his life.

One, was dream. Two, was get sick. And three, was dance (after a particularly traumatizing junior prom in high school, but that was a separate story).

The point being, right now he was doing two out of three things, and decidedly not enjoying it at all.

He couldn't remember the last time he got sick beyond minor colds and sniffles, but right now he was suffering the whole shitty shebang of a harsh case of the flu. Shivering, fever, sore throat. A nagging throb at the back of his cranium that permeated to the back of his eyeballs. Any of the fluid packets Connor gave him that he managed to ingest were exhumed within an hour into a waste receptacle, leaving every inch of him shaky and sweaty and with a foul taste in the back of his mouth.

He found he didn't care for this whole 'getting sick' business. Put simply, it sucked.

The dream aspect, however. That was a different story.

* * *

_He's standing in a garden, on a wooden over a tranquil lake. He can see lily pads floating lazily on the water. The trees around him sway hypnotically. He can't feel a breeze._

_"Hello?" He distinctly feels as though he's not supposed to be here. The sensation marches like so many ants on his nape, and he shudders. Everything about this place was fake in a pretty way. Too perfect, too bright. He has the feeling if he looked too hard, the world might fall apart._

_So he doesn't. "Is anyone there?"_

_He walks the bridge to land, onto a clean stone pathway. Somewhere to the left of the path is a few outcroppings of stone, sheltered under the blossoms of a cherry tree. To the right is a clearing, with a white terrace decorated with curling green vines, and from it he can hear humming. Some familiar, old-school song that he can't place, slow and jazzy. It accompanies periodic sharp clicks, and the vegetative snap of breaking stems._

_Along the sides are stones, decorated with twisting white wisteria. A magnolia tree stretches flowered branches over him, and the shadow it casts is dappled around his feet._

_He gets about halfway across to the clearing before he realizes the nagging discomfort is because of the sound. The entire garden is silent, save for the singing. There's not a single sign of life otherwise, no mouse or bird or bug. There's hardly even a wind that ripples the mirror-like surface of the water._

_"Hello?" He tries again as he gets closer to the terrace, and the voice stops. There are things under his feet, softening his footsteps, and when he looks down he can see petals. Dark red and wrinkling and rotting on the grey stone._

_There's the clink of metal in front of him, and he looks up. He sees a pair of silver garden clippers, a lot of white-_

* * *

He wakes up with a strangled gasp.

He's in bed, and drenched through with sweat. Everything below the neck feels hot and burning, everything above is cold and clammy. For a moment, he can't comprehend what he's looking at-a lot of black shot through with white-until he realizes it's a camera lens, shoved right in front of his face. Beebee is floating dead in the air, directly in front of him.

With some effort, he frees one arm from the confines of the sleeping bag and grabs one of the handles on Beebee's chassis, shoving it and letting it spin away. Even the slight movement is a lot, and he can feel the muscles of his arm tremble and ache with the vigor he doesn't have.

 _I should go find Elijah,_ he thinks blankly, blearily, and grabs blindly at the clasp of the restraint belts to free himself. 

A small blessing about being sick in space; he doesn't have to worry about walking, so he drags himself along with a hand to the wall. All the lights in his room are off or dimmed, another blessing, and he wonders if the ship is currently in a night cycle.

The door slides open, and immediately he squints his eyes shut at the assault of white lights of the hall, pounding into his brain. Okay, no night cycle then.

Why was he out of bed again?

 _I should go...go..._ He didn't know.

He makes it all the way to the central junction before realizing that the last of his muscles are about to give out, a horrible ache taking over every inch of his body. Electric throbs. Pressurized jaws on his nerves and temples. With a groan he curls in on himself, contorting with pain, squeezing his eyes shut as though that was a suitable escape. It didn't help, but at least it blocked out the light.

He's not even aware that he's drifting blindly until he bumps into one of the walls, cold and pressing uncomfortably into his back with hatches and handles and controls, and something he doesn't quite immediately recognize. Long and cylindrical and interrupted with rubbery ridges. It's not until it starts moving that Gavin realizes it's an arm. Not human, but robotic.

An arm?  _Connor._

"Connor," He mumbles, and the arm moves stiffly to wrap around his torso, pressing him to the wall. Crossed protectively over him. Seatbelt.

"... _Gavin._ " Connor hums back. " _You shouldn't be moving around._ "

"Don' wanna stay in bed."

" _You are ill, Gavin._ "

"Yeah, no shit." He sniffs, coughs, shivers in the same breath, ribs bumping uncomfortably against the smooth plating of Connor's limb. "Just-fuck. Wha' was I doing?"

What  _was_ he doing? Something, something...Elijah. Eli?

"... _I am taking you back to bed, Gavin._ " He's being shoved, nudged, and he can distantly hear the soft whirr and hum of other robotic arms being activated, passing Gavin along like some bizarre version of hot potato back towards his sleeping chamber. The thought was funny enough that he wanted to laugh, but could only manage something that sounded like a wet series of car sputters.

As his back is pushed against the soft mattress, he remembers, finally, and makes a weak grab at the clamp that's moving to buckle him in. He's no way strong enough to stop Connor if he wanted to, even if he were healthy, but Connor freezes anyways. " _What is it, Gavin?_ "

"Tell-tell Eli-something, something..." His chin droops down to his collarbone for an instant as his words trail. "Someone's waiting for him. In the, uh. On campus."

Connor was silent. Gavin could hardly keep his eyes open any more, fatigue pulling at his eyelids and bones.

Exhaustion dragged Gavin to sleep before he could hear the AI's response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uwu the plot chickens.....
> 
> normal update schedule? whomst?


End file.
